Real South
by Thesseli
Summary: A crossover, in which Constable Fraser finally finds the help he needs to take care of a little problem...


Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, returned to his quarters in the Canadian   
Consulate in a particularly pensive mood. There was a matter that had been troubling   
him for quite some time, and he had been giving it much thought in recent days. It had   
begun slowly—not even recognizable as a problem at the time—but lately it had been   
growing, becoming such a distraction (and irritant) that it had begun to interfere with his   
work. Something would have to be done.   
  
Fraser glanced over at the white form lounging near the foot of the bed. This   
would be easier if Diefenbaker was asleep; unfortunately, the canine was awake and   
watching him expectantly.   
  
"I've decided."   
  
The wolf regarded him with a vaguely disapproving expression, then whined.   
  
"There really isn't anything else to say," he stated, feeling a mild twinge of guilt   
anyway. Dief continued to stare at him disparagingly. "Don't look at me like that…I'm   
doing this as much for you as for me."   
  
The canine snorted, then rose to his feet and trotted stiffly away, not even   
acknowledging the mountie as he passed. Fraser sighed. He knew that this wasn't   
going to be easy.   
  
"I'm doing this for the both of us, you know," he called after him, not caring that   
he couldn't be heard. He frowned. It was a good thing Ray wasn't there. If Dief was   
taking it this hard, he could imagine the reaction this decision would get from the other   
man. Ray certainly wouldn't approve.   
  
But his mind had been made up, and there was no backing out of it now. He   
began his thorough search, first of his quarters, then in the surrounding areas of the   
consulate building. He had to be sure the first part of his plan would go unobserved.   
That was crucial. If he was found out now, there would be no second chance.   
  
Finally satisfied—after nearly an hour of methodical searching—Fraser sat down   
at the consulate's main desk and picked up the telephone. Removing a small scrap of   
paper from his pocket, he carefully dialed the out-of-town number written upon it.   
  
"Yes, hello?" he replied, after the call had been picked up. The woman at the   
other end of the line had a thick New York accent, a bit difficult to understand but still   
clear enough to let him know that he had the right place. "I was given this number by a   
friend of a friend…he holds your work in the highest regard." He glanced around   
surreptitiously. "I've been having a…problem." Still looking around nervously, he   
lowered his voice. "It's been going on for the past year or so…I never know when it's   
going to happen…no, I can't say that I totally dislike it, but that's not to say that it should   
be occurring or that it should have continued past that one time when it was actually   
needed…I don't want to seem ungrateful, but enough is enough..."   
  
The secretary listened carefully to the account given, occasionally nodding as   
she took notes. "Uh-huh…uh-huh…yes, I can tell them that…hold on, one of my bosses   
just walked by…he'll probably want to hear this for himself." Motioning him over, she   
thrust the notepad into his hands and handed him the phone. "You have got to hear   
this," she said. "It's too weird to be made up."   
  
The man perused the notes quickly, then spoke into the receiver. "Constable   
Fraser?" he asked. "I've just been going over what you've told our secretary, and I've   
got to say that this sounds like a fascinating case…yes, I think we'll be able to help   
you…now, if you could just give me a more detailed description of the events leading up   
to the first time this happened, and the circumstances of each of the subsequent   
encounters…"   
  
As the whole story was told to the man busily jotting down the particulars of the   
case, a small and curious crowd had gathered around him. The comments and   
questions being asked of the man in Chicago had aroused the interest of those in New   
York, and they were eager to hear what was making their co-worker so excited. It had   
been a slow day for them, and this was a welcome diversion. All eyes were on him as   
he said "Don't worry, we'll be there in 24 hours, tops!" He hung up the phone and   
leaned back in the chair, smiling.   
  
The others looked at him expectantly. "So? So what's going on?"   
  
"Yeah, let us in on it."   
  
"Why are we going to Chicago?"   
  
"I'm going too -- that nice man was so polite, not like some of the people around   
here whose names I won't mention…Peter."   
  
"C'mon, Janine, I'm as polite as the next guy."   
  
"Yeah, if the next guy is Andrew Dice Clay," she replied.   
  
"Or Don Rickles."   
  
"Thanks, Winston--why do you two always gang up on me?"   
  
"Excuse me," interrupted Egon Spengler, wanting to defuse the situation and get   
to the point. "I believe Dr. Stanz over there was about to enlighten us as to the aspects   
of our next case—"   
  
The man who had spoken to Constable Fraser nodded, still smiling. "Yes, thank   
you," the parapsychologist responded graciously, and then went back to looking   
excited. "So, guys," he said eagerly. "Do any of you know anything about exorcising a   
dead mountie?"   
  
Peter Venkman looked at him dubiously, his arms folded. "Exorcising a dead   
mountie?" he repeated. He shook his head. "That's just silly, Ray."


End file.
